


Rust over the moon

by Naelhinn



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bad Flirting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29433207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naelhinn/pseuds/Naelhinn
Summary: Some said that the Duke Riegan had only thrown this party in the hope to see some old camarade. They were right. All Claude wanted was to get another chance with Sylvain.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Rust over the moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lulukaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lulukaw/gifts).



Autumn was coming to its end, but the howling wind and freezing rain hurling itself at the windows didn’t seem to bother the guests. The shimmering lights and warm laughs gave rise to a deceitful haze in the Riegan manor that no one seemed to pick up on.

Across the hall, still soaking wet and heavily cloaked, lied the center of a small but rather loud troupe. From atop the stairs, the Duke watched the man hand his furrs to a butler as he talked, revealing flamboyant clothes and bright red hair. He couldn’t hold a smirk to creep on his face. What fashion was this, now? They had lost contact for so long, but it was good to see that, at least in appearance, the Margrave - was he Margrave yet? He couldn’t remember - hadn’t changed. 

He made his way downstairs with quiet strides, swirling between nobles in his so recognizable outfit unbothered, green gems dangling in his hair. It was quite the irony that the host of such a party could be so utterly ignored. Well, it couldn’t be helped, he happily thought as he joined the circle around the newcomer, leaving cold whispers in his wake.

He had this talent for drawing people to him, be it for a short time, that Claude had always envied. It was something he couldn’t quite explain, perhaps in his mannerisms or his boastful confidence. To put it simply, he was a charmer. Claude knew it, saw the effect it had on people, how they went quiet just to listen to him, how they indulged him even when they knew his reputation. He knew what he did to people, how he ensnared them in webs of words and small attentions only to toy with their hearts. He knew, he had experienced it himself - the thrill had never left his mind - and yet caught himself falling for it. Who had ensnared who? Neither of them knew that much, it had started as a sort of game, and spiraled out of control.

So was it him, bewitched and lost in his voice, or Sylvain, coming for a party weeks away from his home, that was ensnared? Or were they each drawn to the other in a raging storm of feelings that left both filled and ruined, wandering in the dark for years after? For now he couldn’t tell, the world was a blurred mess of voices and light with Sylvain in its center. What was he saying? He had no idea. He only heard noises, coiling around his body in a tender way. He only saw his lips moving, fresh and still glistening. He saw his throat, swollen by the air coming from his lungs. His throat, bare and spotless. His throat, intoxicating.

Claude snapped out of it. Sounds started gathering up in words, and soon enough he had recovered his vision. Sylvain was still the center of the attention, smirking and gleefully flirting. Claude hadn’t followed the conversation - but to be honest, he wasn’t certain anyone really was, that was what Sylvain did to people - but his ears had immediately caught up on the change in the margrave’s voice after he had cleared his throat. He took a step back and leaned on a bust. Somehow the subject had changed to poetry. Oh how he was waiting for Sylvain’s shot.

The margrave kneeled and, as he declaimed his lines, took a lady’s hand in the crowd and closed her fingers on a flower. Where he had found this flower, and why he had kept it on him all this time, no one could have guessed. Claude simply knew it was one of his little tricks. Maybe he had already prepared so many other shows for the evening, perfectly in line with the most recent - weeks, if not days, old - fashion. That was scary, and Claude knew it was only the most unharmful and pleasant way Sylvain liked to show his brilliance. Dimmed and cloaked, but sharp and bright whenever the need arose.

_ Si aux bonds de ces vers vos si vertueux mots _ _  
_ _ Se dérobent à vous et rosissent leur temple _ __  
_ Ne rougissez d’en voir glisser sur votre peau; _ _  
_ __ Faites-leur donc honneur et suivez leur exemple

The margrave’s voice was clear and his enunciation very precise, and he was cheered with polite applause and amused smiles. They hadn’t understood. They didn’t even care to understand, even those who spoke the language well enough to get beyond the sounds, to tear through the words. None of them were willing to do it.

Cheeks blushed and Sylvain tilted his head to welcome the praises, but Claude could see in his eyes that he was disappointed. Warmth started spreading in his body, urging him to move in. After all, what host was he, if he didn’t even welcome his most precious and awaited guest? And could he live with himself if he let go of the opportunity. His teeth sank into his lips and he made himself known.

“Margrave Gautier! Have you made safe travel?”

It was like winter had suddenly sprung from nowhere, sweeping the laughs and smiles in an instant. Claude didn’t let his body tense up. Instead, he very politely moved a couple out of his way, breaching the circle to meet the rust-haired man whose face had suddenly lit up. They didn’t trust him, but the instant he was facing Sylvain, none of it mattered anymore. The young man got up and smiled. 

“Duke Riegan, I thought urging matters held you in your office?”

It was their ritual, a dance of pointless titles and salutations, of questions both of them didn’t care about. A made up étiquette to tease and poke they had come up with. If at first Claude felt a bit rusty, their first exchange quickly got him back into shape. When he talked to him, the world around felt blank and quiet, people turned to shadows and shadows to silver mist. 

He took the most over the top voice he could and exclaimed:

“It was the case indeed, but I heard you how so charming voice from upstairs and felt obliged to welcome you.” He smirked. “I was on my way when I heard poetry. I assume it was yours?”

Joy sparkled in his chest. He had missed this game; and more than anything, he had missed how Sylvain blushed, even for a second. From a quick glance around him, he saw that the initial buzz provoked by his arrival had died down and that the group had dispersed. Their whispers still lingered however, poisonous thorns to grow. 

Sylvain probably had noticed as well, because he immediately dropped his dramatic act.

“Claude, why did you have to deprive me of my audience? I was doing so well.”

Almost immediately, Claude corrected. He hadn’t had the occasion to see the margrave in years and took a few seconds to watch him. He was taller than he remembered. Finally the duke answered.

“As I saw. They didn’t quite get it, did they?”

Sylvain shook his head, pouting sadly.

“The poem? No, I don’t think so. I mean, I didn’t get many propositions. Then again, you did step in before anyone could talk up so…”

Claude laughed. It felt surreal to laugh. He wasn’t used to it anymore. He didn’t laugh much, not sincerely. But even with eyes plunged like daggers in his back, he couldn’t hold it back. 

“Well, I have no dress to let slide down my waist, sorry to disappoint you Sylvain. Foresight was never my forte, unlike you.”

Sylvain smiled and nodded in appreciation. 

“I knew you would get it. But I am not very regarding as to which type of clothes slide on the floor, and I really wouldn’t want you to feel turned down, so please go on.”

Even after all the time they had spent together in the past, Claude wasn’t quite sure if Sylvain was being serious or not. It used to drive him mad. Were they even playing anymore? He never knew when it had all started and if it had even ended. They were too similar. His hand reached for Sylvain’s cheek, grazing it gracefully. 

“Well go ahead, I won’t stop you then.”

It truly was like back then. His heart was throbbing in his chest. Around him there was nothing but Sylvain; everything else had dissolved in the confusing haze that swirled and puffed wherever he went.

Sylvain leaned in, unfazed by the other guests that stared daggers at them. Before his lips joined Claude’s however, he stopped. His warm breath crept down Claude’s throat, who opened his eyes, disappointed, a very obvious question burning in his eyes.

But Sylvain stepped back, smirking.

“I know better than to trust you Claude. We haven’t seen for years, what tells me your lips aren't poisoned?”

Claude groaned. If it was his idea of a joke, it was a very bad one, and the very fact that they hadn’t seen in years made it even worse. Before the margrave could react, he cupped his head with his hand and let his fingers run down the margrave’s throat. 

“I know you Sylvain. I know you love danger. I know you love a mortal danger.”

He could hear the respiration of the other man.

“So why don’t you check it yourself?”

Sylvain knew how to get around people. Claude knew how to get him. He pressed his chest against Sylvain’s and pushed. The margrave ran his hand into the duke’s hair, going with him, slowly backing up until they reached the window. Claude intercepted going up and down his face, from his lips - had they always been coloured like that? - to his eyes - could he see through him? They were mirrors, veiled and foggy, reflecting only what he wanted.. He didn’t know if he was being serious or not. His fingers slim and pressed against his throat, were slowly making their way down his fancy outfit.

Eventually, Sylvain gave up and, although hesitant at first, kissed Claude. It was short but sincere.

“I have to apologize Claude.”

The duke frowned his eyebrows. He was still in the moment.

“It has been so long, I don’t remember how your lips tasted. Even if you had dipped them into the most vile poison you could mix-up, I couldn’t tell.”

Claude shrugged his shoulders and moved his hand up on Sylvain’s neck. He wanted to touch his hair, to get another taste of his lips. He had forgotten too. The taste of his lips, the warmth of his mouth, the tenderness of his movement, yes, he had forgotten all of that. But more than anything, he had forgotten how his simple presence anchored him in the world, how much he trusted Sylvain, and how much Sylvain trusted him. 

“I would like another try if you please, dearest duke. I am afraid I must have missed the poison.”

Claude rolled his eyes and leaned in. Leave it to Sylvain to act dumb to torture him. Their lips joined and it was only when Claude opened his eyes that he realized Sylvain had opened the window and was now getting them both out in the pouring rain. He tried to go back in but Sylvain’s hand that was lovingly caressing the back of his head held him back and before he could do anything about it, they fell on the balustrade.

The rain immediately soaked him to the core and Claude broke apart Sylvain, who burst out laughing.

“Sorry for the slight inconvenience, but now I think I’ve had a good taste of this poison you speak of.”

It wasn’t simply the rain, the wind also unleashed its violent blades against them, slamming the window shut in a deafening noise. And now they were alone, outside, out of reach, out of sight, in the freezing…

Claude looked at Sylvain.

The rain. It wasn’t freezing. It was warm and soft. And the wind, the howling autumn wind that even wyvern feared? It was but a gentle breeze enveloping them.

Sylvain dropped a kiss on his lips before hugging him.

“Better here than inside eh? Don’t worry. I’m here for you.”

Claude couldn’t answer. It was warmer here than inside the manor. In the autumn rain, at the mercy of the elements, it felt more like a cocoon, a nest of peace and stability. The lords and ladies that swarmed his manor, his life, that spread rumours and lies about him, could he do anything against them? Words got stuck in his throat, all swollen and trembling.

“I mean, I haven’t got much of a choice. As deadly poisons go, this is the most intoxicating and I ever got a hold off. But as far as death is concerned, I fear it might get a little boring and long-winded for a daredevil such as myself dear Claude.”

Another kiss, warm and tender star in the sky, fourth of a constellation yet as invigorating as all the ones before.

“I think I might need a few more doses over the years to come before it becomes lethal.”

Yet another one, a bright and distant star, lone in the dark, filled to the brim with whispers and caresses like a balloon that takes to the sky.


End file.
